


A Helping Hand

by firefright



Series: Road to Recovery [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman Beyond, DCU
Genre: Alternate Canon, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 14:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12584424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright
Summary: Still adjusting to the loss of his eye, and too restless to sleep, Dick finds himself dragged from his bed by Slade in the middle of the night to go work off some of his frustration. Exercise, however, wasn't exactly the method Dick was hoping for.





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooo. This is my final SladeRobinweek fill, for the day 7 prompt 'Witching Hour'. Originally I had a couple other fills planned, but I've been a bit under the weather on and off for the last two weeks and those stories were fighting me, so I decided to take the flimsy excuse to write more of this universe instead. This is probably the healthiest Slade/Dick relationship you'll ever see from me, so enjoy! XD

“Rule number one of wearing an eyepatch, kid,” Slade says, in the wake of Dick’s latest faux pas when it comes to being half-blind, “Don’t ever try to wink at anyone, you’ll just look like a damn idiot.”

Dick snorts. He’s nowhere near as old as Slade, but he feels older tonight, watching him move around the gym room that lies at back of his apartment, still with the same lean predatory grace he had when Dick was but a boy of sixteen, fighting against an enemy that seriously outclassed both him and the rest of his team on almost every level. 

“Is that you talking from experience?” he can’t resist asking impishly, to try and cover his own embarrassment. “Please say you’ll tell me that story.”

“Not much of a story to tell.” Slade answers vaguely, distracted as he pushes the pommel horse from the center of the room into one corner, where it joins the other, heavier equipment he’d deemed extraneous to their purpose here tonight. “I was in Taiwan; it wasn’t long after Adeline and I split up. There was a girl, and I was still getting used to the idea of being one eye down.”

“A hot girl?” 

“You think I’d have bothered with her if she wasn’t?”

“Mm, knowing you, probably not.” A smile tugs at his lips as Dick leans back in the chair he’s sitting on, dragged in here from the dining room table. “What happened after you did it? Did she laugh at you?”

Even though Slade’s not looking at him, Dick can tell that he just rolled his eye, “What does it matter if she did?”

“Slade, c’mon.”

“Fine. If you must know, yes, _briefly_.”

Dick’s smile widens into a grin at the begrudging confirmation, thinking of the image of a younger, cockier Slade, trying to flirt with a beautiful woman in a foreign land and failing. He doesn’t get many of these kinds of glimpses into the past of the man he knows now (especially of instances where Slade was less than in control of a situation) and each time such a detail is let slip is a treasure. 

Even if Dick suspects that, at least on this occasion, it’s been done purposefully to take his mind off his own present circumstances.

“Good to know you’re not perfect all the time.” Absently, he reaches up and rubs his thumb over the space where his right eye used to be. It still aches sometimes, but this far into his recovery Dick’s had enough of swallowing painkillers. Getting better means not using drugs as a crutch to lean on. He has enough of that with the actual physical stick he has to rely on to get about these days — which is part of the reason they’re here now, ready to start exercising at almost three o’clock in the morning.

“Never claimed to be.” Finally satisfied with his rearrangement of Dick’s gym equipment, Slade brushes his hands clean of dust and crosses back over to him. He leans down, offering Dick a hand up. “Come on, kid. Night’s not getting any younger.”

“This is a really weird time to be doing this.” Dick says.

“You’re the one who couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah, well, normally when I can’t sleep, you want to have sex.”

Slade’s mouth crooks up in a smile, “Told you before, Dick; if we have sex now, I’d break you.”

“Never stopped you before.” Dick replies, not missing a beat. “And that was a week ago, I’m better now.”

The smile widens to a smirk, and Dick shivers as Slade hand momentarily diverts from its chosen course, rising up so that the pad of his thumb brushes against his lips, “Not that much better. Try to distract me all you want, we’re still doing this.”

“Slave driver.” Dick sighs.

Slade chuckles, “You don’t know the half of it.” he traces the shape of Dick’s mouth, before dropping his thumb down to tug against his bottom lip. Dick’s breath catches for a moment as Slade suddenly leans closer, moving in so that he’s whispering right next to his ear, “But who knows, kid, maybe if you impress me enough, I’ll still find some way to reward you.”

Heat floods up Dick’s face, as well as down towards his stomach; beginning in his cheeks and spreading outwards. He swallows thickly as his fingers grip the arms of his chair a little tighter, but regains enough control to murmur back, “I’m going to hold you to that promise, old man.”

“Wasn’t a promise,” Slade leans back to look him in the eye, smirking, “But if it makes you feel better, sure. Now, are you going to get out of that chair by your own will or am I going to have to drag you?”

“Fine, fine. I’m moving.” Dick groans, starting to push himself up, while ignoring the crutch that is leant against the wall beside him. Slade offers his hand again, and this time Dick takes it gratefully, holding onto the firm muscle of his arm for support as he limps forwards towards the centre of the room. 

The plastic mats on the floor are cool under his bare feet, and familiar. It’s been almost two months since Dick last came in here, and he’s struck all at once by memories of how easily he would have moved around this space back then. Flipping, jumping and kicking; his body a perfectly conditioned instrument under his control. Not now, though, and it’s hard not to let the by now reflexive stab of bitterness rise up in him again as he thinks about it.

_You’re going to fix it. You’re going to get better again. That’s the entire reason you’re here. The entire reason Slade is here._

“Kid?” Slade’s voice intrudes on his thoughts, and Dick manages to cover up for his moment of weakness with a wavering smile.

“Yeah?”

“You ready?”

Dick takes a deep breath, feeling the ache that even now lances up and down his torso and hip grow stronger as he inhales. “Not really, but let’s do it anyway.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going to give you a choice.” Slade replies firmly, though with the curious touch of gentleness Dick has become more and more accustomed to this past week, ever since Slade unexpectedly showed up at his door with a case of beer and a sympathetic ear to his troubles. “On three…”

Contrary to all Dick’s expectations, Slade does actually wait until they’ve finished counting the full amount before letting him go. He swallows hard as he stands in place, forcing himself to balance without any form of support while Slade takes a couple steps away from him. It hurts, like someone’s stabbing razors into his muscles, but he was expecting that.

“You all right?” Slade asks him.

Dick nods, biting his lip as he braces his feet against the ground, arms held out to the side like he’s walking the high wire, “Standing, yeah. Moving…” he swallows, “You’re going to catch me if I fall, right?”

Slade scratches his chin underneath his beard, “Don’t know. Haven’t made my mind up yet.”

Dick musters a glare in his direction as a bead of sweat rolls down his temple. “Asshole.”

“Get moving, kid.” 

It’s an order rather than encouragement, but Dick expects nothing less from Slade, and sometimes he needs that when he’s caught up in the vicious cycle of feeling sorry for himself. A verbal kick up the ass to remind him of who he is and what he can do. Dick takes a deep breath to centre both mind and muscle, reaching for the muscle memory of how his body used to move — a lifetime’s grace gone but not forgotten, before attempting to take a step forwards.

There’s no part of Dick that was expecting miracles in this moment, but he still hoped for better than what he gets. 

As soon as his leading foot comes down against the floor, something inside Dick twists in protest. He only gets a split-second to realise what’s happening before his leg buckles under him, contorting his body into an awkward half-turn as he falls down to meet the mat hip first. Panic wells up in his chest as he throws out a hand to try and lessen the impact, knowing how much it will hurt to land on his bad side, but before Dick can actually hit the ground, a strong arm catches him.

“Easy, kid, I’ve got you.” Slade says gruffly as he hauls him back up.

Dick can’t quite stop himself from reaching back and latching onto Slade’s broad shoulders, slumping against his chest as his heart hammers out a rapid drum beat. “Shit, shit shit shit… not even one step. I couldn’t even manage one—”

“Hush.” Slade is unforgiving as he pushes him back onto his feet, forcing Dick to either find his balance or go down once again. “First step’s always the hardest one; you know that.”

“I know, I know. Just… _shit._ I thought I could do better than that.” He says, wavering as he continues to hang onto Slade.

Slade shakes his head. His hands are strong as they pluck Dick’s away from his shirt and force them down by his sides. “You can, and you will. But only if you keep trying.”

For a moment, the words make him feel nothing but the harsh burn of wounded pride. Dick forces himself to swallow it down. The fact that Slade’s even here trying to help him at all feels like a surreal miracle; the last thing Dick wants to do right now is let himself lash out and chase away one of the few people left who don’t look at him with pity in their eyes. 

“Thanks, Mr. Miyagi. You’re getting real soft in your old age, you know that?” Dick says, falling back on banter as a safer outlet for his broiling emotions.

“Shut up, kid. Or this time I definitely won’t catch you.”

*

Twenty minutes, and five attempts later, Dick hasn’t managed to walk more than four paces on his own. He’s covered in sweat, and his limbs are shaking as he sinks down onto the floor with Slade’s help, leaning heavily against his side.

“That’s it…” he pants, “I’m done, Slade. I can’t… no more tonight.”

“Are you sure?” Slade asks him, raising an eyebrow with wry smile, “I really thought you were getting the hang of it with that last one there. The pirouette at the end was an especially nice touch.”

Dick groans as he reaches up to smack his hand against his chest before letting his head slump down onto Slade’s shoulder. “Bastard. Yes, I mean it. I’m _exhausted_.”

“Mission accomplished then, maybe now we can get some damned sleep.”

Dick rolls his eyes, sighing as he tucks his head in closer to Slade’s neck. “Wasn’t stopping you.”

“All your bitching and tossing and turning begged to differ.” Slade chuckles. His arm slides around Dick’s waist like it belongs there, and even exhausted and in pain, Dick can’t help a shiver as the large expanse of Slade’s palm covers his stomach.

“I do have a guest bedroom, you know.”

“Mm, bed’s not as comfy as yours. We already talked about this.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever excuse you need to make for wanting to sleep next to me.” Dick reaches up, wiping some of the sweat from his brow. He may need a bath first, actually. He doubts he smells very pleasant at the moment. “This is going to take a long time, isn’t it?”

“You already know the answer to that, kid. You don’t need me to confirm it for you.”

Dick sighs, “I know. I just wish…” he closes his eyes for a moment, thinking of the gunfire. The blinding white heat in his head. Waking up to find his life was never going to be the same again. 

And Bruce… 

“You know,” he says, forcing himself to pull away from that train of thought before it can go much deeper and focus on Slade instead. The thick solid strength of his body beside him. The sturdy presence that has kept Dick company more than any other this week, leaving only during the day or when he had other visitors to his home. “Zatanna once told me they call this time of the night the ‘Witching Hour’. It’s supposed to be when all kinds of strange and crazy things can happen.”

“That so?” Slade answers noncommittally, even as his fingers dip possessively beneath the hem of Dick’s shirt. “I might have heard something about that before.”

Dick nods. “She said it had to with the lines between worlds becoming blurred. Like at Halloween, but every night. Apparently, it’s the best time for a magic practitioner to perform their spells. Lends them a greater power.”

“Good thing I’m not a magic user then. Sounds like a pain in the ass to have to wait around till three o’clock every damn morning to get something done.”

“Didn’t say it was the only time,” Dick chuckles, “Just the best one.”

“Mm. So, this interesting fact of the day got a point?”

Dick shrugs one shoulder. “Not really. Well, kind of. I just… guess it feels kind of weird being here. Me and you. You helping me out like this. Not something you would have done for me a few years ago. Not without any ulterior motivation, anyway.”

The corners of Slade’s mouth pull up into a smirk as he inclines his head down towards him, “Who says I’m not here with an ulterior motive now?” Dick snorts as he leans in closer. He can feel Slade’s warm breath against his lips, smell the residual alcohol from the whisky he’d been drinking earlier. “Maybe I thought your accident was the perfect opportunity to finally get between you and the Bat. Win you over to my side.”

“You and I both know that will never happen, no matter how angry I am with him.” Dick says calmly, refusing to rise to the bait. 

“Then maybe I’m using your apartment as a base while I take care of a few jobs in the city. Hiding where no one will think to look for me.”

This time Dick laughs, “Daytime jobs? Because that’s the only time you’ve left my place of your own accord all week, and I definitely would have heard from the others if they thought you were in town whacking people.” He shakes his head. “Try to brush it off all you want, Slade, you’re here because you care about me. No other reason.”

This time he’s facing the right direction to get the full effect of Slade rolling his eye. “Cocky little brat.” he grumbles.

“Grumpy old man.” Dick teases back, grinning smugly with the knowledge that he’s right, “Just because you’re cranky I made you stay up past your bed—whoa!”

Dick hisses as he winds up on his back, muscles aching in sharp protest. It’s always dizzying to move too fast with only one eye to rely on now, but he likes to think he’s getting better at coping with that. Certainly, he bumps into less stationary objects now than he used to after he first got out of the hospital.

“Watch it, kid.” Slade says, looming over him. His hand finds Dick’s face, fingers lingering over his mouth, “None of your sass, or I’ll leave you lying here on the floor all night.”

Dick knows the way his heart is beating faster isn’t because of the threat. “I could make it back on my own.”

“Not without that crutch over there, you couldn’t.”

This time Dick musters a glare, “Bastard.”

Slade just smirks at him as his hand trails higher, brushing under the patch covering Dick’s right eye. Black, unlike the white one Slade wears. Dick thinks he might have a small fixation on it, but he doesn’t voice that thought, knowing that Slade wouldn’t appreciate it being pointed out. 

“So,” he swallows after a moment instead, “How about that reward you were talking about?”

Slade raises his eyebrows, “You think you deserve it?”

“I’m covered in sweat and feel like I just went toe to toe with Orca. Yeah,” he raises his chin, pulling what he knows is a charming smile onto his face, “I think I deserve it.”

“Now there’s a fetching image.” Slade snorts, but he brushes Dick’s hair back away from his face all the same. “We’re not fucking,” he tells him sternly, “Unless you want to feel like you went toe to toe with Doomsday instead.”

Dick opens his mouth, meaning to make some kind of witty retort to that comment, or a protest that he can handle it, but then he feels Slade’s _other_ hand — the one he’s not been paying attention to up until this point — press down against his stomach, rubbing warm circles into the tender pink flesh near his healing wounds before dipping lower. That cuts off just about anything else he could think to say.

“Slade…” Dick groans, hardening almost instantly.

The smug look on Slade’s face makes Dick want to punch him, except that he would probably miss, distracted as he is by the way Slade’s hand is huge and warm as it pushes beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. The thick calluses on his palm from handling weaponry provide incredible friction even though he’s still barely touching him. “This good enough for you, boy?”

Dick closes his eye tight as he tries to roll his hips up. Only the weight of Slade sitting across his legs stops him — which is probably a good thing, considering his condition and all. “Yes. Fuck… yes. God...”

He opens it again just in time to see Slade lean down toward him. The kiss is hard and dominating when it comes, a counterpoint to the relatively gently touch of Slade’s hand. Dick opens his mouth to it, allowing Slade to sweep his tongue inside; to take anything he wants of him, just so long as he doesn’t stop what he’s doing. It’s been way too long, and Slade’s been driving him crazy all week with light touches and insinuations, before always pulling back at the last minute, citing Dick’s health as the reason why they couldn’t go through with anything further.

A damn tease was what he was. And Dick has just enough sense left to wonder if Slade maybe did have an ulterior motive in coming here after all; to be able to have Dick needy and begging him for it, before any such thoughts are swept away by the stroking motion of his hand.

“This isn’t just a spectator sport, you know.” Slade murmurs against his lips.

Dick laughs breathlessly. Fumbling at first, he manages to get his hands down past Slade’s to his pants with an aim to reciprocate. Slade’s big enough he always feels like he needs to use both, and then it’s just them, kissing and writhing against each other. Dick’s head spins with the intensity of it, and for at least a few minutes, he doesn’t think about anything else. Not his restricted vision, not all the various ways his body aches or the anger that feels sewn into the ligaments holding his bones together at this point. Just Slade. Just Slade’s hand, impossibly big as it gets him off, and the feeling of Slade’s own cock in his own, thick and heavy as he runs one hand up and down its length while teasing the head with the other.

Unsurprisingly, Dick comes first. Almost embarrassingly fast, as a matter of fact. He’s too pent up and desperate after nearly two months of forced abstinence to do otherwise, shouting his release into Slade’s mouth. Slade, who doesn’t stop his hand until it feels like he’s wrung every last drop of come out of him and Dick’s left lying, shivering and weak on the floor.

He only allows Dick a few moments to recover before nudging him again. “Not done yet, boy.” Slade’s hand moves down to wrap around Dick’s own, which has been sitting lax and motionless around his still prominent erection. He tugs at it, and Dick swallows at the wet feeling of his own come on Slade’s fingers before their hands are moving together, sliding and squeezing around each other as Slade gets off on him too.

A minute, or maybe an hour later (Dick is a little too out of it to accurately tell), he lets his head slump back against the blue mat beneath him, feeling Slade’s come cooling against the skin of his stomach. Beside him, Slade is making a show of licking his hand clean of their combined releases, and while normally that would be more than enough to get Dick going again, now he just feels drained.

The road to recovery is going to be troublesome in more ways than one, it seems.

“Better?” Slade asks, kissing him again when he’s done. He tastes of come. Smells like musk, and whatever deodorant it is he uses, as well as Dick’s shampoo that he’s been borrowing while he stays here.

“Better.” Dick repeats, the thought of Slade smelling like him doing something funny to his stomach. “Feel like I could sleep for a week, though.”

“Good, because it’s four in the morning.” Slade sits up and stretches before getting his feet, tugging his pants back up as he does so. “Witching hour’s over, kid. Time for you and I and any other sane person to go to bed.”

Dick expects Slade to go get his crutch, maybe help Dick stand up with it, but instead he simply bends down, scooping him up off the floor in a bridal carry that has Dick blushing harder than he ever has done for sex. “Jesus…”

“Don’t get used to it,” Slade tells him as they head through the doorway out of the gym and into the hallway beyond, “I’m not going to be sticking around here forever.”

“Just long enough to eat all my food and bully me into walking.”

Slade smirks down at him, “I don’t hear you complaining.”

No, Dick supposes he isn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](https://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/)


End file.
